


Fences

by jamjoon



Category: GOT7
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 21:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9923042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamjoon/pseuds/jamjoon
Summary: Jackson and Mark agree to quit having rough sex during promotions.It's justthreemonths. They can handle that, right?





	

It’s been like this for months. Ever since promotions stopped, and more work started.

They’re not in the direct light of the public eye anymore – at least, not on purpose. Comeback preparations take months; they get three weeks off in between, and in hindsight, that’s probably where this all started.

Anyways, they moved dorms, Jackson and Mark became roommates again, and their sex life went from once or twice a month blowjobs to what it is now.

It was probably a stupid decision to fuck Mark against the mirror last night, both knowing perfectly well that dance practice started back up the next day. Should they have? No. Did they? Yes.

It’s not even Mark that got the worst of it – he seems fine. Some of his sore movements can be blamed on his new regular gym attendance ( which is doing soo many wonders for his arms, good lord).

Jackson however, doesn’t have any excuse for the raw claw marks that rake across his shoulder blades. They don’t bleed, but they’re angry and sore, amongst the sharp hickies that bruise into his chest. Mark was careful enough to avoid his neck, but deep down, Jackson kinda’ wishes he was more careless. It’s hot.

Mark is in a baggy shirt today; it falls down past his ass, preventing any possibility of riding up. Jackson feels a little proud of the hand shaped bruises around his hips, bite marks and nail indents scraped down his thighs.

Jackson likes it this way. They _both_ like it this way. It’s fun -  to paint skin like a canvas, to bite and destroy and stain what’s supposed to appear oh-so perfect and pure to the public. Stand straight, talk clean. Smile always, don’t show weakness. Sing better, dance stronger, build bigger muscles. Woo girls, but don’t date them. Be in love, but not with boys. It’s a lot.

So when everyone goes to sleep, and the alarm sets with a _beep beep!,_ they slink into the other’s bed, kissing hard enough to bruise.

Jackson doesn’t find it weird. He’s always liked Mark – there’s a natural progression here that’s fun and refreshing.

But uh, today. Today practice is hell. His body burns with every twist, every move, every time he has to throw his body to the floor, or slide to his knees. He feels the marks on his back opening back up again, a tiny bit of blood bubbling – but there’s not much he can do. He wore a dark shirt, thank goodness.

The choreographer pushes them hard like usual; they’re not rookies, they can usually pick this up within a week– but today they’re slow, and Jackson sees Jaebum grow concerned.  

They get a ten minute break, so Jackson collapses to the floor dramatically, and fans himself with his hand.

“Hey, you okay?” Jaebum sits next to him, and hands Jackson a water bottle.

“Me?”

“You’re a little sluggish today.”

“Am I?” Jackson sniffs.

“Hey, don’t give me that.” Jaebum smiles, “I just know you can do so much better. Did you sleep last night?”

Jackson automatically looks to Mark, who’s sitting in the corner, a bottle in one hand, phone in the other. Bambam is slumped against his shoulder, rambling off words – but Jackson sees his occasional flinch, and the way his lip twitches. He’s probably hurting too.

“Enough,” Jackson says. “I slept enough.”

“Mm." Jaebum nods, “Okay.”

He rocks to his feet, and meanders over towards Jinyoung and Youngjae. Jackson breathes a sigh, resisting the urge to scratch at his back. The blood has dried by now, and it itches like hell. He glances at the big digital clock hanging on the wall; they only have another two hours until they can go home.

So he puts on a smile and hops to his feet, pattering over to Yugyeom and asking for help on the choreography once more.

 

* * *

 

“Ugh,” Mark exhales. He falls back on his bed, closing his eyes. He looks exhausted. His hair is fluffy and messy, jeans already thrown to the floor. He’s still pretty, no makeup and all.

“I feel ya’.” Jackson kicks off his shoes, and rolls onto his mattress. “That was brutal.”

“We shouldn’t have done that last night,” Mark sighs. “We make terrible decisions.”

Jackson wiggles his eyebrows, “It was still great sex though.”  

Mark’s face softens a little, and he sorely shifts on his comforter. “Yeah…”

“How are your hips?”

“They’ll be okay by tomorrow.”

“Ah,” Jackson rubs his eyes. “Right. Tomorrow. More practice.”

“It’s killer choreography.”

“Oh yeah, Yugyeom and the director really outdid themselves this time.”

“How are you doing?” Mark asks.

“Ah, well,” Jackson sits up sluggishly. He reaches for the hem of his shirt, and tugs it off. Mark’s eyes fall to the hickeys across his chest, and Jackson feels his stomach curl at the look in his eyes. It’s always so possessive. Proud and animalistic. It’s a side of Mark that Jackson loves to bathe in; but he clears his throat and says, “I might need you to fix up my back.”

Mark blinks away the look in his eyes, face falling into concern, “Are you okay?”

Jackson turns around on the bed, and shows off the swollen marks across his shoulder blades. There’s dried blood, red, puffy lines agitated and bright. It’s art at its finest.

“Fuck,” Mark sits up, scrambling out of bed. “Jackson, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Jackson waves him off. “You know I like it.”

“Yeah, but this could get infected,” Mark frowns as he gets a closer look. One of his fingers comes to swipe beneath one of the lines, and Jackson flinches. “Hold on.”

Mark disappears into the bathroom, and comes back with a wet rag and a bottle of Vaseline. Jackson settles on the bed, sitting criss cross, and the mattress dips when Mark sits behind him.

“Fuck. This’ll hurt.”

“It already hurts,” Jackson says. Mark swipes away some of the blood with one fluid motion, and Jackson grunts.

“I’m sorry,” Mark says again. “I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“I _like_ it.”

“But not during comeback season, stupid,” Mark flicks the back of his head, and Jackson yelps.

“Ow!”

“We have to be more careful.” He cleans the wounds carefully, but with purpose. The rag gets set aside, and he pops open the cap to the Vaseline. “We have to stop this.”

“Ughhh,” Jackson whines. “You’re probably right.”

Cold fingers smear even colder ointment across his shoulders, and Jackson squirms, making sad puppy noises. It startles a laugh out of Mark, who brings his forehead to rest against the back of Jackson’s head. He sighs, fingers falling down to his ribs, some of the Vaseline spreading there. “You know I’m just as unhappy about it as you are.”

“No no, it makes sense. It’d be really bad if someone saw something.”

Mark nods a little, and tips his head to press a kiss to the back of Jackson’s neck, before pulling away. It makes Jackson grin, and turn around to look him in the eye. Jackson is selfish, in the way that he loves everything. He loves when Mark softly holds his hand or demands to be the big spoon, or when he kisses down to his calves, and falls asleep against his shoulder.

But he also loves when Mark grabs him by the back of his hair. When he fucks Jackson against the wall of their shower, or when he, in turn, is bent over Jackson’s knee, nails drawing blood from his hips.

Jackson runs a hand through his hair and fishes for his shirt.  “So, no sex for the next three months. This’ll be fun.”

“I didn’t say _that,_ ” Mark crosses his arms. He looks a little pouty, and it makes Jackson feel needed. Mark turns his head away, “Just…no more violent escapades.” He pauses, “Except during tours. No sex on tours.”

“Oh yeah, like that’s gonna’ happen.”

“Dude, last time we were in the U.S. Bambam almost walked in on us.”

“So? Bambam already knows. They _all_ know.”

“Yah, but that doesn’t mean I want them moseying on in when you’ve got your tongue up my ass.”

Jackson chokes on spit, sputtering into a laugh, and Mark pouts all the way back into his own bed.

“Noo, no come back,” Jackson laughs, head popping through the hole of his shirt. The Vaseline hasn’t completely dried yet, so the shirt sticks to his back. He hobbles over to the lump in Mark’s bed, “Lemmie in~”

“No.”

Jackson pulls on the covers until he finds a hole in Mark’s defenses. He lays across him on the bed and sticks his tongue behind his ear. Mark squeals, almost elbowing Jackson in the side – but Jackson avoids death by rolling, and trapping Mark by his thighs. He ends up as a big spoon, arm around Mark’s waist, mouth by his shoulder.

“I loooove you,” Jackson sings.

Mark melts instantly. He squirms until he’s facing Jackson, palm reaching for the light, and clicking it off.

He says, low, in that very _Mark_ tone of his, “Same.”

Jackson makes a big giggly show of kissing him, sitting up on his elbows to get a little leisure. Mark kisses him back, something soft and sweet, but firm all the same. Jackson adores the way Mark kisses. He has so many types, he speaks so many words without his voice. It’s like reading brail, translating just through his body language.

Out of habit, Jackson smears his tongue along Mark’s bottom lip – and Mark lets out a throaty little noise, so Jackson pulls back before it’s too late.

“It’s just three months,” Jackson tells himself. “We can do it.”

“Yeah.” Mark yawns, “Totally.”

 

* * *

 

Haha.

Ahahah

Ha.

Yeah, no. In all honesty, they were set to fail from the beginning.

At first it’s all good and fine. They’re really, really busy for a solid month. JYP decides to whore Jackson out again to every reality T.V. show known to Korea, and Jackson doesn’t really mind, because some are fun, and others have friends he hasn’t seen in years.

They finish the album, get the choreography down. Things start slowing down a little schedule wise, as soon as some of their trailers go up, and _that’s_ when it catches up to them.

They’d been fine up until now. Mark always let Jackson in his bed at night, no matter what late time Jackson made it home, snuggling into him and happily going back to sleep. They made time to go out to lunch – they saw each other at practice all day anyways.

They manage to sneak into the shower together once, careful not to wake anyone – but it’s been so long, that all Mark has to do is slip his hand around him and roll his wrist twice, before Jackson is slumped up against the wall.

And that was fine – that’s how they did things before. Jackson went back to his schedules, Mark went back to the JYP studio to help Jaebum polish some songs.

But the lag in the schedule. The one week of “rest” that they’re given before the music shows.

Surprisingly, _that’s_ what fucks them up.

Jackson has been feeling a little edgy all week, kinda’ pent up with nowhere else to go but the gym. Jackson can tell Mark is the same way – he’s touchier than usual, hand slipping to his thigh under the table, thumb sliding along the inseam of his jeans. Jackson plays along, paddling around the dorm in sleeveless shirts, taking every opportunity to flex and say, “ _Hey Jinyoung-ah, my muscles are bigger, yeah?”_

Jinyoung always waves him off, but Mark never fails to look up over his phone from across the room. He always chews on his bottom lip when he’s turned on – sometimes his sharp teeth will draw blood, and it’ll take every _ounce_ of control Jackson has to stay still. To not grip Mark by the back of his hair and shove his tongue down his throat.

It’s just a game. They’re both aware – Mark drops an apple out of the fridge one night, bending over with a very loud and fake _“Oops~”_ and Jackson about pops a lung he laughs so hard.

But, Jackson knows he’s won when he joins Mark at the gym one day, and Mark about bites a hole through his lip.

They come home and shower (separate, unfortunately), but they’re met with a lovely surprise when Jaebum announces that he’s taking the kids out to meet some MX members for dinner.

Jackson and Mark successfully play the _“we’re too tired”_ card – and when the door slams shut, Mark grips Jackson by the back of his neck, and hauls him into their bedroom.

“Move it,” Mark points.

“Ah fuck,” Jackson breathes. He falls onto his back, Mark landing on top of him, knees astride his hips. The lights are still on – Jackson can see the way his chest heaves, and how his pupils are narrowed into pin pricks. Fingers push into his stomach, dragging up, pulling the shirt to his armpits – Jackson gives a single thrust of his hips. It throws Mark forwards, like the buck of a horse, and Jackson grips him by the forearm to drag him in for a kiss.

They both moan a little too loud, a little too needy. Jackson fists a hand in Mark’s hair and pulls, tilting his head until they’re kissing perfectly, and they both kinda’ melt.

Mark seems to purr, the edge bleeding out of him. They calm, the kisses slowing until Mark pulls away, “Sorry.”

“No, same.” Jackson shifts his hips beneath Mark, planting his feet flat on the bed and pulling his knees up, until the backs of Mark’s thighs are flush with his. “I know it’s ironic teasing, but it’s still been killing me.”

Mark laughs, that high pitched giggle that Jackson has fallen hopelessly for.

“You have no idea,” he breathes. He sits up a little, looking down at Jackson like he’s a good meal. Jackson preens under the attention, arching his back off the bed a little, making overdramatic, needy noises.

“Kiss meeee.”

Mark doesn’t tease him – he leans back in, broad and tall, licking into Jackson’s mouth and letting the latter do the same. Jackson feels across his sharp teeth – revels in it, actually. They’re a little messy tonight, spit almost rolling down Jackson’s chin, if not for Mark catching it with his tongue. Neither controls the kiss – it’s more of a joint effort, and it makes Jackson’s gut flop. When Mark adjusts his hips, putting pressure on his crotch, Jackson lets out a shocked groan.

Mark grins against his mouth, rocking with a small movement, grinding just to make Jackson hard. Which is working, thanks.

Jackson takes the opportunity to run his hands up Mark’s sides, pulling at his shirt until Mark gets the hint and throws it somewhere. Ah, god, he’s just – _so_ pretty. He’s like, boner-inducing pretty. He doesn’t even need to do anything. Put him in a museum, for fucks sake.

But he is, actually, doing something - mouthing past Jackson’s lips and pressing his tongue behind Jackson’s ears. Don’t judge, okay, but it feels so fucking good, the wet sounds right against his ear shocking him into a moan, thumbs digging hard into Mark’s sides, cock twitching in interest.

“Nn,” Jackson softens his grip. He drags his hands to Mark’s ass, a much safer place. “Fuck Mark. We have to be soft, remember.”

“Ugh,” Mark sighs. He presses a kiss beneath Jackson’s ear, making him shiver. “You’re right.”

“I-I know,” Jackson grunts. He slowly rolls his hips up against Mark, and this time it’s Mark who shivers. “We’ll go slow. Top or bottom?”

“Bottom,” Mark says, still by his ear. He speaks the words deep and raspy, “Fill me up.”

“God,” Jackson swallows. He squeezes his ass once, before pulling away to feel for the bedside drawer. “No foreplay tonight, huh?”

“You want foreplay?” Mark grins.

“Uh-“

Hands push his shirt up higher, and suddenly Mark is sliding down him like a damn pole, pressing his tongue into Jackson’s sternum, and barely grazing his teeth into his ribs. Jackson’s dick fucking swells, throbbing, pinned to his thigh by his shorts. He tips his head back and groans, throat tightening. It’s a tease-

_Bite me, bite me, bite me-_

But Mark doesn’t, like he’s supposed to. Instead he kisses slow, wet presses, until his fingers dip into the elastic of his shorts, and pull enough to graze his teeth against his hip.

 _“Ah!-“_ Jackson chokes, nearly dropping the lube.

“I don’t mean to stroke your ego, but,” Mark tips his head enough to nuzzle against the outline of his cock, “you’re fucking hot.”

“Oh god, you’re gonna’ make me come.”

“Just like that?”

“Nh- y-yeah.”

Mark looks way too proud of himself, so Jackson pats his stomach until Mark gets the hint. He chucks off his underwear and sits up on his knees, right above Jackson’s torso. To Jackson’s complete delight, he’s already half-hard. His thighs are just as soft and smooth as ever, and Jackson can’t look away.

“Preeetty,” he coos, and wiggles up to rest his back against the propped up pillows on the headboard. He pops the cap to the lube, dousing his fingers, “Alright babe, spread ‘em.”

“You’re so unsexy,” Mark says, but spreads his thighs a little farther, and props his hands up on Jackson’s shoulders. Mark keeps his nails long, probably out of laziness, but Jackson feels them lightly graze against his neck. Jackson shivers, closing his eyes for a moment to regain control. He wants it – for Mark to rake down his neck and bite at his throat.

Instead he breathes in, brings Mark down for a kiss, and slicks a finger inside him. He’s warm and relaxed, so the slide goes without effort. Mark hums against his lips, rolling his hips back, so Jackson fingers him slowly.

“Ngh,” Mark nips his bottom lip, “more.”

“Can’t,” Jackson breathes. “We’ve got a full schedule tomorrow.”

“I can take it.”

“Mark,” Jackson growls.

He gives a whiny sigh, pulling away to rest his head against Jackson’s shoulder. Jackson is thorough, curling his index finger, stretching him out enough until he can add a second. It’s a much slower pace than usual – Mark likes the burn, begs for it – he’ll rasp against Jackson’s ear until he gets what he wants.

That’s why he’s wiggling, impatient, rolling his hips back when Jackson adds another finger.

“Aish!” He bites, “Careful.”

“It’s _fine,_ ” Mark huffs. “I know my own fucking body, thanks.”

“Yeah, but so do I,” Jackson purrs. He tips his head, to speak against Mark’s cheek, “And I know you’re not ready yet.” He spreads apart his fingers for proof, and Mark’s body jolts with shock. He moans openly against Jackson’s shoulder, rolling his hips back again and keening. He’s much louder than when they first started ‘dating’. Jackson adores it.

He continues spreading him slowly, until Mark’s body is pliant and relaxed. He hasn’t lost his erection yet, so Jackson aims right, and rubs his fingers into his prostate. Mark chokes, arching back, nails gripping into Jackson’s biceps.

“Careful, careful,” Jackson sighs. The burn is good- but –

“Sorry,” Mark breathes. He inhales, exhales, and nods, “I’ll be good.”

“Yeah?”

Mark nods, so Jackson continues. Mark bites his tongue, and accepts whatever Jackson gives him.

It’s nice – but Jackson knows what Mark wants. He wants to _give_ it to him. Split him open and tear him apart, stitch by stitch. He kisses into Mark’s mouth, until Mark is safely stretched.

“I’m good,” he says. A hand comes to feel between Jackson’s legs, shocking Jackson into a groan. “Jackson….Jackson….”

“On your back,” Jackson says. Mark nods, rolling over. Jackson stands up off the edge of the bed, gripping Mark by his thighs, and pulling him closer. Mark grins, biting his lip again, preening like a cat getting what it wants.

Jackson folds him up like a nice little pretzel, hooking his elbows beneath his knees, and pulling until his ass is at the edge of the bed. He looks beautiful. Mark is completely unmarked, cheeks a little red, but otherwise tan and gorgeous.

“Ughhhhghhghgh,” Jackson grits out, shifting on his feet, “You’re not real.”

Mark doesn’t say anything – he just smiles, letting Jackson rock his dick along the cleft of his ass. Mark finds the lube, reaching as far as he can to slick up Jackson’s cock, and guide him in.

“Go, go-“ Mark whines.

“Slow,” Jackson reminds himself, more than anything. Mark nods, head flopping back onto the mattress.

It’s hardly a stretch. He’s so wet and slick, that Jackson slides in on one try. They both groan, Mark’s back arching up, Jackson’s hands gripping Mark’s knees a little too hard.

Mark doesn’t look happy to say,  “Gaga…hands.”

“Ah,” Jackson loosens his grip. “Sorry.”

“It’s good,” Mark squirms. “Come on, _nhh-_ “

Jackson pulls back, slowly fucking back in. He forces Mark’s thighs wider apart, and feels a hot knife twist in his gut. He realizes he’s shaking, vaguely, with the effort of holding back. Every inch of him wants to fuck Mark into the mattress, to fold him up like a lawn chair and kiss him until he cries.

Slow sex is beautiful. Wonderful in and of itself – but when they’re tired and lovey and feeling mushy as hell – instead they’re wound up, so, so tight, that they’re shaking. 

Jackson is soft and gentle, rocking in and out, shivering when Mark squeezes around him. He’s gorgeous. So, so gorgeous.

“Jackson,” Mark keens, a hand falling between his legs. He prods where they’re connected, “Faster, please-“

He obliges, just a little. It’s a solid pace, one that makes Jackson’s gut curl slow. It’s good, but not _enough-_

Mark is losing it. Jackson sees it in his eyes – how he chews on his bottom lip and prods around his entrance, tempted to slip a finger in alongside Jackson.

“Don’t,” he snaps, and Mark’s hand falls back to his dick.

Mark is repeating his name, edging him on, squirming on the bed, doing _everything_ to tease Jackson.

“Harder,” Mark barks. “Jackson _fuck_ me-“

“You know I can’t,” he rasps. He feels himself on edge, pausing every so often to feel his cock pulse, before breathing normally again.

Mark squirms more, hands fisting around himself, legs tensing in Jackson’s arms. “I’ll be fine,” his breath hitches, and he gasps, “ _Please-“_

Jackson pauses to breathe, adjusting his grip on Mark’s legs, “You’re the worst.”

“I’m sorry,” Mark says, not sorry. He reaches around to feel for Jackson’s hip with his free hand, pulling Jackson into the rhythm he wants. “You’re so big-“

“Don’t.”

“Fuckkk me-“

 _“Stop._ ”

“Ugh!” Mark’s head throws back, legs twitching, thighs tensing. Jackson can tell he’s close, but not close enough to come.

“You’re being bad,” Jackson says, low, but his voice cracks and he almost dies when Mark squeezes around him.

He can tell Mark is holding back. His hand keeps squeezing his hip, nails kept safely away. Jackson swallows, building up a better rhythm, body rolling with slow waves of static.  

His orgasm catches him by surprise – it was Mark’s fault, when he looked up through half lidded eyes and grazed his teeth across his bottom lip, eyes saying everything his mouth didn’t. He looks needy, on edge, body wound up tight with energy, cock swollen between his fingers.

Jackson pulls out and comes across the divot of his hip. His eyes squeeze shut, and his mouth grits out nonsense. It washes through him slowly, hips rolling with the movement.

Mark fucking _whines,_ back arching up off the bed, hole clenching, left unsatisfied. He rolls and squirms until Jackson lets go of his legs. Jackson barely opens his eyes in time to see Mark violently thrust his fingers inside himself, feeling for his prostate, mouth falling open-

“ _Careful!”_ Jackson barks and pulls his hand away. Mark bites back a scream, glaring at Jackson through watery eyelashes.

 _“Please,_ god, oh my god, _Jackson-“_ Mark huffs, body flushed red. Jackson is still dizzy, but he manages to sink to his knees at the edge of the bed, and hurries to wrap his mouth around his cock.

Jackson understands. He really does – Mark pulls back, like he’s about to fuck into his mouth, but stops himself with a grunt.

He wants it too. For Mark to make him choke.

But instead he sucks him off, quick and practiced, careful enough. He squirms his tongue, rolls a finger in his entrance, and curls it just right. Mark arches up off the bed, pulling at Jackson’s hair, so Jackson pops off.

Mark is silent when he comes, grinding his teeth, hands falling back to the sheets so he doesn’t pull out Jackson’s hair.

It’s almost a shame.

Still, Jackson feels flecks of arousal still wash through him, just at watching Mark’s body convulse and roll on the bed.

“I’m sorry baby,” he says softly. Absently, he runs his hands up and down Mark’s thighs, soothing him through it. He knows he wanted more.

“S’okay,” Mark exhales. “You’re amazing.”

His cock is still twitching through the mess they’ve made, and Jackson resists the urge to lick him clean, and start a second round. He rocks back on his heels. He stands up on wobbly legs and paddles into the bathroom, then grabs a towel, wiping himself clean and tossing it to Mark.

Mark is lightly glowing, but not as bright as he could be. Jackson has seen him fucked out, blissed and happy and content.

“You look so clean.”

Jackson stops in his tracks. He looks up as he slides on his boxers. Mark is staring at him with dissatisfaction, eyes rolling from his thighs, to his chest.

“Yeah,” Jackson nods. “So do you.”

“Still pretty,” Mark says. He makes grabby hands, and Jackson laughs. He paddles over, lifting Mark from his soiled bed, and onto Jackson’s.

They bounce a little, Mark rolling until he’s on top, head on his shoulder. Jackson feels lightly sleepy – not as much as he should be. Still, they dim the lights, and Mark trails his hands up and down Jackson’s biceps. His nails scrape lightly.

 

The room is silent now, all the heat from earlier seeping away. Mark managed to put on underwear, but their skin still sticks together with cooling sweat. The boys should be home soon – but till then, the house is silent. There’s no T.V., no radio. Just street traffic, and the occasional cicada, singing outside their wall.

“Tease,” Jackson breathes, when Mark positions his lips against his collarbone.

“Sorry,” Mark exhales, and moves his head. “I was no help earlier.”

“I’m a bad boyfriend. I didn’t give you want you wanted.”

“I’m happy,” Mark tips his head up to look Jackson in the eye. “And I’ll be happy when I can walk tomorrow.”

Jackson laughs, lifting a hand to push back Mark’s bangs.

They fall asleep that way, Mark half across his chest, hands intertwined. Jackson still buzzes with unspent energy, but that’ll have to wait.

He has more pressing issues to worry about.

 

* * *

 

Music programs drain their energy like a health bar – they watch their sleep schedule go from six hours, to four, to two. Jackson smiles still; especially for Jaebum, who offers him a sorry look when he wakes them up at three in the morning.

Still, they’re happy. Yugyeom and Bambam dance around backstage, pulling everyone and anyone into their antics, and Jackson plays along happily. When they scream, he screams. When they hop on his back, he carries them. In the long days -  in the tired hours – in the long flights – they find comfort in each other.

But there’s still that itch. The scratch he just can’t reach.

Mark laughs with Youngjae – and it’s like two crows, cackling off in the corner – and Jackson stares, longingly, at sharp teeth and red lips.

“Hey,” Jinyoung nudges him. “I was talking.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re _still_ not paying attention.”

“Sorry.”

 _“Jackson,”_ Jinyoung pushes him, and Jackson looks to him.

“Hah?”

“You keep zoning out,” Jinyoung waves a hand in front of his face. “You there?”

“My bad,” Jackson laughs. He cuddles into his side, making Jinyoung wrinkle his nose. “Jus’ tired.”

“We get an early afternoon after the radio show tomorrow,” Jinyoung flicks his forehead. “Sleep then.”

“I will,” Jackson nods.

In all honesty, he’s not that tired. This isn’t anything new. The schedules are by no means a surprise. He likes filming weird cooking contests, playing paper kissing games and hide and seek.

He’s just… still edgy. It’s already been two weeks since the last time he was even a foot away from Mark’s side of the room – and he doesn’t _need_ sex, per say, he’s never _needed_ it, but-

There’s a lot of anxiousness in him. A lot of worry that he won’t let anyone see, because he’s Jackson! Jackson Wang! The invincible! Weakness isn’t a bad thing – he’s just a ball of energy without an outlet.

Well, he has an outlet. He's sitting across the room. Snuggling up to Youngjae in front of the camera.

Jackson sighs, and leans his head against Jinyoung’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

That early afternoon comes in handy when Mark grips him by the back of his hair (again) and hauls him into the shower with him.

“I’m from California,” Mark says, pushing open the curtains, nearly yanking the plastic off the ring. “In California we preserve water.”

“Right,” Jackson laughs, as Mark does all the undressing for him. “You know, I’m glad I’m not the only needy one here.”

“In.” Mark points, pushing him with his other hand. He grips Jackson’s ass in the process, and Jackson yelps.

“Handsy!”

“I’m going _insane._ ” Mark pushes him beneath the spray -its hot already, steam rising off the tiles. “You’ve turned me into a monster.”

Jackson looks him over. He'll never get tired of his body.

“One more month,” Jackson sighs. He plants his hands on Mark’s hips and smooths upwards, feeling all the soft, hairless skin left for him. He’s sturdy, lean and very much a man. “One month, then I’m tearing into you.”

“Oh ho, young padawon,” Mark sings, slinking close to press their bodies together – thigh to thigh, hip to hip. “It will be _me_ ripping into _you._ ”

That shocks Jackson, head to toe, goosebumps rising on his arms, a chill running down his back. A moan gets caught behind his teeth, and his head falls against the wall with a _klunk._

Mark grins – he slips a hand between Jackson’s legs; he’s not hard yet, but he’s sure as fuck about to be.

They kiss deep, Mark’s tongue mapping across his, feeling every tooth and crevice. Jackson lets him, and resists the urge to dig his thumbs into the sweet V of his hips. His lips are softly bitten, sweet to taste and easy to adore. The hand on his dick is great too.

“You could be a pornstar,” Jackson manages.

Mark arches an eyebrow, and twists his wrist on the upstroke, “Oh yeah?”

“Y- _hn-_ yeah.” Jackson rolls his hips, “You’d- you’d be a good camboy.”

“You’d like that.”

“I would.”

Mark leans by his ear, doing that thing again with his voice, where it drops six octaves, right down to hell. “You’d watch me fuck myself all damn day, wouldn’t you? You’d pay for it.”

Jackson jolts, fully hard now, and accidentally squeezes Mark’s ass a little too hard. Mark gasps by his ear, and Jackson feels his cock lightly rock against his thigh and _shit_ shit shit, that’s hot-

There’s a hard knock on the door. They jolt, Jackson banging his head on the wall. Mark knows a surprising amount of curse words.

 _“Jackson!”_ Jaebum raps. _“You in there?”_

“Yeah?” Jackson chokes.

_“The manager needs to see you.”_

Jackson sighs, and Mark closes his eyes with a silent complaint. He’s never seen Mark look so annoyed.

“Can I finish showering first?”

_“No! He’s leaving right now, and he needs to talk to you.”_

“But-“

_“Dude, now.”_

Jackson groans, “Fine. Damn. A guy can’t even shower around here.”

He can practically hear Jaebum roll his eyes, “ _You can get back in later, drama queen.”_

Mark presses a kiss against his ear, before slipping his hand away. A silent apology. Jackson nods before stepping out of the spray, and grabbing a towel.

It takes all damn day to get rid of his hard on – especially since Mark finishes showering, and passes out at seven. It’s fine. Jerking off never made anyone blind anyways.

But he still burns where Mark touched him. His ear still tingles, and his fingers twitch to dig into soft skin.

 

* * *

 

The weeks crawl by slower than ever. There’s good days, laughing with his members on planes – meeting fans, singing songs – good, good days.

But Jackson is wound _up._ Coiled so, so tight, it feels like he can’t move. The shower thing happened weeks ago, and the schedules just don’t stop. He loves it, really, but he’s so stressed he can feel his hair standing on end.

Jackson has a nightmare one night, so he goes a full twenty-four hours without sleep, surprise, surprise. He wants to crawl out of his skin. Tear himself apart, and rebuild inside of Mark. He wants to unravel, and die in Mark’s broad shoulder for all of eternity.

Fuck, fuck the sex. He just wants to hold him. Be _with_ him. It’s been so long – yes, they’re together, night after night, mini concert after concert – but it’s not the same. He can feel himself chipping.

They’re being good. Keeping their promise. They’ve come this far. It’s better this way – no one gets hurt, no media gets their grimey little hands them.

However, when they fly to Japan, Jackson can feel the stress in Mark too. When he holds his hand, fingers tighten around his, and don’t let go. Mark squeezes, fingers sometimes shaking. Jackson will look over- and eyes will be on him. Like a hawk. Like a wolf.

It makes Jackson feel wanted. He loves feeling wanted.

In hindsight, it was probably the tour that broke them. Jackson can’t really remember. It’s all a blur after the concert.

But yeah, the concert. In Japan. _That_ happens.

You know, they play the silly games. Hacky sack, Q&A, blah blah blah, rinse repeat. It’s fun, but it’s hard to keep the same thing interesting, you know?

Jackson has a full balloon of helium in his lungs – and he’s belting out Hard Carry when Bambam comes behind him, and hikes up his shirt. Jackson squeals, laughing, trying to pull away, but Bambam is adamant, pulling until the shirt pops off.

“Bambam!” He screams, voice still pitched from the helium – and everyone finds it hilarious, except for Mark.

But Jackson isn’t concerned with Mark – he’s concerned with _Bambam,_ who has his _fucking shirt-_

Jaebum gets it back, scolding Bambam on stage. It’s all a joke, everyone finds it hilarious, they move on. But Mark eyes him from across the stage – it’s just a flicker of a look, but it’s so possessive and raw and _hot,_ that Jackson finds himself thinking of grandmas and smelly feet and anything ever to keep him from popping a boner up stage.

Mark decides then and there to be biggest tease of all space and time, because for the first time in an eternity, he chooses the _“Mark! Do a sexy dance!”_ request on the Q&A board.

He does it. Boy, does he do it. He pulls a Yugyeom, dropping to his knees, grinding against the floor like the choreography from Hit the Stage. The screaming is so loud, it reverberates around the room like a gunshot. Jaebum hauls him off the floor, Mark pretends to be innocent, Jackson almost blacks out.

 

* * *

 

They’re sharing a hotel room tonight, which probably wasn’t the best idea, considering the sexual tension and all. The drive back is jittery – there’s talking up front, but all Jackson can feel is Mark’s thigh burning against his, heat seeping through his jeans. His jacket sticks to his back, eyes fixed on the road. He’s boiling from the high of the concert – dying a slow death from Mark’s weight against his side.

They smile and say their goodnights, Bambam and Yugyeom wandering off who knows where, Jaebum beyond happy to have his own room and say _gnight kids._ Jinyoung and Youngjae aren’t stupid; when Mark and Jackson say _were headed to bed,_ they don’t question it.

The elevator doors ding shut. It’s silent.

Jackson watches the numbers change from one, to four, to six, to nine, up, up, Mark unmoving next to him. Mark is silent, unsurprisingly, but he’s still. Calm, and collected, and the opposite of how Jackson feels. Jackson wants to jump off a cliff, swim in the ocean, peel a layer of himself away and just rip out every emotion swirling in his gut. He’s so full of affection – desire for the person next to him, _need_ so much need.

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.

Jackson shifts on his feet. Mark taps at his phone.

Eighteen.

He inhales. The elevator is smaller than it was before. He peels off his jacket.

Nineteen. Twenty.

The doors ding open, and the cracks in their dam shatter away. Mark puts his phone in his back pocket, grips Jackson by the forearm, and hauls him to their door. Jackson is kind of amazed at how easily Mark opens the door with his key. Jackson can never get those damn things to work-

The door opens and shuts, and he’s slammed up against the wall. Jackson chokes, pawing into Mark’s hips and holding on for dear life.

Mark kisses him like he’s never kissed before. Like it’s his last kiss. Like the aliens from War of the Worlds are outside their window, and this is the last time they’ll ever see each other again. It's furious and hot and Jackson can feel exactly where Mark was chewing on his lip upstage.

Jackson brings a hand into Mark’s hair and pulls hard enough to tilt their heads better, fitting their lips like they were meant to be. He ignites like a tripwire, arching up and devouring Mark for all he is. He tastes like Mark, smells like Mark, feels like Mark – Jackson buries himself in it. Deep, deep.

Mark lets out a noise against his lips – it sounds like a dry sob. A cry of relief.

 _“Jackson,_ ” he finally chokes, lips shaking against his. “I can’t – I can’t take it anymore.”

Jackson tightens his grip in Mark’s hair and keens, “Fuck, I- we- we're on tour-"

“I _can’t._ ” Mark repeats. His fingers are balled up by Jackson’s hips, thumbnails digging moonshapes into his bones, and it burns with a feeling that Jackson hasn’t felt in _so_ long. Mark’s voice is gravelly, chewed up and raspy. “You’re so fucking beautiful. You walk around like you don’t even know.” His forehead falls against Jackson’s shoulder. “I want to tear you apart.”

That’s the most Mark has said in the last seventy two hours, and Jackson feels his throat clog with cotton.

“I’m actually dying,” Jackson manages. His voice doesn’t sound like his own. Blood rushes past his ears so loud, that the sound of the city below them fades away. “I- shit.” Mark’s tongue laves against his neck, and he hiccups, “I fucking need you.”

Mark’s nails dig harder into his hips, before  pushing his shirt up, and leaving red little streaks in their path. It feels like _paradise._

Jackson keens, slumped against the door, pawing stupidly at Mark’s shirt. Off, off, off – away, _away-_

Mark tears it off impatiently. It’s expensive, but it gets tossed to the floor anyways. They’re only two footsteps away from the door, so they make it to the bed without a fuss. Mark tosses Jackson to his back. Manhandles his pants off, and sticks his head between his legs.

Jackson doesn’t care. Doesn’t care about his noise level. Doesn’t care about the marks. Doesn’t care about being sore tomorrow. He doesn’t _care._

Mark lies on his stomach, right between Jackson’s legs, propped up by his elbows, and sucks big, round, apple snap-like hickies into his thighs, and Jackson arches his back up and sobs. Mark wastes no time. Mark has no time to _waste._ He licks across the outline of his half-hard cock in his Calvin Kleins, and Jackson fists a hand so hard in Mark’s hair, that Mark keens through the fabric.

Jackson swells right before Mark’s eyes, full and leaking when Mark digs his nails into Jackson’s knees and rakes, nipping and sucking and laving his tongue where his underwear lies. Jackson’s heart sours through his chest, mouth rambling so much garbage. Mark paints him, paints him with his teeth.

“I can’t-“ Jackson chokes. His gut twists – everything is moving so fast-

“That’s fine,” Mark peels down his underwear, and Jackson’s erection snaps against his belly. “Come,” he says, so Jackson does. It’s easy, especially when Mark dips his tongue into his slit, and sucks beneath the head.

Everything whites so hard, that his thighs shake against Mark’s shoulders. Mark sucks him through it, preening, like that’s exactly what he wanted.

Jackson heaves air, in and out, trying to come back to earth. Everything in him pulses, the marks on his thighs burning. He comes back to himself.

“Goddammit,” Jackson gravels. “Why’d you- hah- why’d you let me do that?”

“Because we’re not even _remotely_ done yet,” Mark says, and hauls Jackson's shorts off completely, licking the mess off his stomach.

“Oh. T-That’s good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jackson melts into the sheets. “I’m still hard.”

Mark is grinning so wide. Jackson loves his teeth. They’re so big and sharp.

“I love your teeth,” Jackson says, out loud. “I love you.”

Mark pauses, hand halfway dipping off the bed, searching for one of his bags. He looks up – and there’s a blush, pretty and cute. “I-“ he blinks. “I love you too. Roll over.”

Jackson does, relaxing back into the sheets. He knows what’s coming.

Well, he _thought_ he did. Mark chooses to, however, take a nice bite into the cheek of his ass, earning a choked moan and a gasp. It stings, it burns, but it’s good. The pain seeps through him. Settles something in his gut.

“You,” Mark speaks, since the warmth in the room as simmered a little. “You almost made me lose it up there.”

“Oh yeah?” Jackson settles his cheek against his forearms, and wiggles his ass. “Did you almost go all dom on me?”

“I was gonna’.”

His voice is dark.

Fingers worship him, hip to thigh, thigh to ass,  thumbs pressing into the new bites. A lubed finger sweeps down his crack, and Jackson almost jerks away from it. He’s sensitive, but he wants it. He wants the burn, the oversensitivity.

“Markkk,” Jackson sighs. “Please.”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. Jackson loves that about him.

A slicked finger pushes in, and it’s been a while, so the stretch is _good._ Jackson purrs into the sheets; he arches his hips, because he knows what he looks like. Hair shaggy, body already pliant and sweaty.

Mark fingers him fast and impatiently, crooking this way and that, curling against his walls, petting him and stretching like he knows Jackson wants. Every inch of him burns, sparking here and there, spent cock jerking.

 _“Ah,_ fuck-“

“I’ve had-“ a finger curls, “ _six_ wet dreams,” a second- , “in two months,” scissors out-, “because of someone,” he fucks harder, “sleeping two feet away from me.”

Jackson chokes, fire burning behind his eyes. It’s so fast, but so good. Faster, _faster-_

A third finger. Oh shit, shit shit _shit shit,_

“S-six?” Jackson laughs. He rolls his hips back, exhaling, “I’m proud of myself.”

“It’s like being sixteen again,” Mark says coolly, and decides to pull out his fingers and use his tongue instead.

And Jackson loses it, moaning like a whore. He almost pulls  the sheets off the bed, curling his fingers so hard that his knuckles go white. He needs it – more _more more_

Nails are digging into his abused thighs, and Mark’s teeth nip occasionally, and Jackson gargles a mantra of compliments, losing himself in the feeling. He’s fully hard, already leaking into the sheets.

“So well trained,” Mark curls his fingers back in. “Just for me.”

Jackson wishes he could reply to that, but three fingers are nailing into his prostate, and yeah, please leave a message after the tone. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep-

 “Enough!” Jackson barks. “Oh my god, please. Please let me ride you, please please.”

Mark grits a hardy _fuck_ against the cleft of his ass, right by one of the bike marks. His fingers pull away, and Jackson scrambles like he was poked with a cow prodder. He throws Mark to the mattress, lube leaking down his thighs, fingers jumping to curl in Mark’s belt loops and tug down. He gets his jeans free enough to pull out his cock, which is all Jackson needs.

He straddles his thighs, hand between Mark’s legs, and kisses him for days and days. Mark lets him control the kiss, breathing heavy, every exhale bringing heat. Mark’s chest is flushed, pupils dilated to pin pricks. He nips at Jackson's lip, sucks on his tongue, drags noises from him.

Jackson slicks Mark up enough to take him in one slide, bottoming out hard, Mark’s cock buried deep. They both make a winded sound, but Jackson preens like a cat in heat. He’s cursing, eyes watering. It’s good, so good, it burns but it’s _good._ He feels him in his stomach; Jackson pokes into his abs just to check, and Mark groans at the action.

“You feel me?” Mark manages. His nails scrape down his chest, and Jackson shakily nods. He swallows hard, tenses his thighs, and puts on a show.

He rides him steady, up and down, each bounce making them curl together and bite back ugly noises. Jackson loves it. Loves watching Mark chip beneath him. Loves watching his mask fade away, until his face is scrunched up and his chest is heaving with praises.

He’s fucking gorgeous – Jackson rides him like his life depends on it. He was made to do this. Rap too, but also this.

Mark’s grips him hard, and Jackson busies his mouth in Mark’s bare shoulder. He nips, sucks, and let’s go. He doesn’t care about bruises. He doesn’t care about anyone seeing. He rides him, the slide slick, Mark harder than hell – and they get lost together.

Jackson colors his throat. Colors it completely in red. His collarbones shine with spit, and Jackson swells with pride. Mark has some of the most beautiful collarbones he’s ever seen.

Jackson’s hips haven’t slowed down, but he’s growing more frustrated. It’s a good slide, a good stretch, but it’s _just_ not enough. Mark fucks up into him occasionally, and Jackson’s breath will hitch. His nails dig harder, and Mark shivers from the sting.

Jackson frowns. He grunts, trying to ride better, trying to hit the right spot. He’s close, but not _there._ Almost, almost-

“Gaga,” Mark sighs – and they kiss once, full and sweet and long, so long.

But Mark flips him; Jackson almost falls off the goddamn bed, but Mark pushes him safely into the sheets, and fucks at a speed that Quicksilver himself would be proud of.

Jackson’s mouth falls open into a  silent scream; he must’ve clawed Mark’s back to kingdom come by now, but whatever _whatever,_ he’s boiling. Mark angles perfectly, soft noises coming from his beautiful, beautiful face, and Jackson loses all sense of self. He ascends, and only focuses on the feeling of Mark’s thighs hitting his.

It’s lewd. So dirty. All spit and sweat and skin on skin. But they shed themselves. Every pent up emotion, every anxiety. It leaks out of them, as Mark pants into his ear, and Jackson’s fingers indent on his hips. He begs harder, yells it, and Mark listens. He fixes a knee up by his hip, plans the other in the matress and uses the leverage to meet Mark thrust for thrust, all pain and pleasure.

Who knows how long it lasts? It doesn’t matter. Time is irrelevant.

 _“Shit,”_ Mark curses. His pace sputters, and Jackson rolls his hips down against him to get the rhythm back. “I’m gonna-“ his voice cracks, and Jackson kisses him, then and there.

Mark comes first. He makes the most beautiful noise, and Jackson commits it to memory. His face softens, body tensing, and Jackson thinks _I did that, that was me-_

Mark mumbles his name, curls into his body, cock pulsing inside him. Jackson feels his own body thrum, so so close, twitching and squirming and mewling-

“You,” Mark breathes. He slips out of him, glowing, “You are something else.”  

The praise runs through him.

“Such a good boy,” Mark pants. “So good for me. Do you know what you look like? Do you see yourself in that mirror?”

Jackson tips his head – and he looks like shit, torn apart, hair messy, spit sweat and blood slick. His thighs are red, and prettier than they’ve ever been.

He’s burning. His cock twitches. Everything, everything-

Mark slides up his body, pressing his cheeks between his hands, looking Jackson right in the eye. His cock is trapped against Mark’s thigh-

Mark sucks on his tongue, laves his lower lip, rocks his body just enough to tip Jackson over, and peel him apart. Jackson’s body arches up, noises muffled by Mark.  

“That’s it,” Mark coos. “That’s it.”

Jackson spasms, body aching from a second orgasm. It tingles from head to toe, and his eyes roll shut. Mark talks him through it. His hand eventually sneaks between them, just to milk Jackson dry – and when Jackson whines, Mark lets go.

The room settles.

 

* * *

 

Jackson wakes up with the worse hangover. Which is funny, because he hasn’t had a drink in…six months? Six months. Sounds about right.

He sits up groggily, hair defying gravity, bones popping as he inhales deeply. They have blackout curtains, but neither of them bothered completely shutting them last night, so light slips through the cracks.

“Ugh,” Jackson rubs his eyes. Everything aches, head to toe. It’s a resonating burn, making him sluggish and lazy. His phone is insistently beeping at the bedside table, so he blindly shuts it off, and collapses back on the bed.

6 a.m. Right. Flight is at 9.

Flight. To Korea. That’s right. He’s in GOT7. And his name is Jackson Wang. And last night-

Jackson shoots back up in bed, fingers coming to his collar. He feels for the edge of his shirt and pulls down. Oh. Oh boy.

He’s not wearing contacts, so he can’t see the mirror very well, but just by looking down he can see all the pretty hickies, one after another after another.

Mark comes around the corner, looking how Jacskon feels. He’s barefaced and beautiful, hair messily shoved back, old hairspray keeping it in place. He leans his shoulder up against the lip of the wall, and offers a sleepy smile, “You’re awake.”

“Hey,” Jackson nods. “Sleep alright?”

“Like the dead. You okay?”

Jackson shifts, fingers coming down to the bite marks around his thighs. They’re swollen and puffy, but they’re so, so satisfying.

“I’m good. You?”

Mark pulls up his tee shirt, and shows off the fingerprints around his hips. Nail marks rake down his chest – little nips run in circles beneath his collarbones – and Jackson beams.

“Pretty~”

“We lost it,” Mark rasps a laugh, hands coming to his face. “We have to pass fans at the airport today.”

“We can hide it,” Jackson feels around his throat. “Ill steal a turtleneck from Yugyeom.”

“He’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

“Eh, he owes me anyways.”

Mark arches an eyebrow, “Does he now?” He makes a beckoning hand gesture.

“Yep,” Jackson kicks off the sheets, feet hitting the floor. “From the time I caught him sneaking Jungkook in the dorm.”

Mark laughs, giggling, and Jackson’s heart feels too big for his chest. He’s sleepy and gorgeous and just _ugh-_

He patters up to him sleepily, and Mark warps his arms around his waist, pulling until they’re less hugging, and more slumped against each other.

“Let’s shower,” Mark says.  His hands are cold, so Jackson jumps when they push up his shirt and feel for more bites. “I want to see how I did.”

“Pretty damn well, I can tell you that,” Jackson pinches his ass, and Mark shies away with a sleepy laugh.

They somehow manage to fit in the small hotel shower – which is all good and fine – but Jackson has never, _ever_ been more proud of himself, than when Mark turns around, and shows off the incredible amount of nail marks raking down his back.

They’re not deep and bubbly with blood like the way Mark scratches. Mark has sharp nails that pierce your skin and tear you up.

Instead they’re long lines of red, up and down and side to side, and Jackson will never forget it.

 

* * *

 

They hobble around for a day or two, but nothing catastrophic happens. Nobody snaps a picture. No media throws a fit. The world doesn't end. If anything, Jackson feels _fantastic;_ he best he’s felt in a while.

When they do a silly cooking Vlive, he bounces around the kitchen, dumping flower on Youngjae, and poll vaulting over the counter when he comes chasing after him. It’s a mess, a _mess,_ but Jackson laughs hard and lets go. He takes Bammie shopping because he wants to. Works harder on variety shows because he wants to. 

Mark seems more relaxed. Less high strung, back to the chill, giggly creature that he was before. It’s a relief, honestly.

Schedules take over, life gets busy, Jackson comes home late, but Mark waits up for him sometimes. Occasionally for sex, sometimes just to cuddle and talk about their day. But it’s therapeutic in it’s own way, and Jackson is no longer ashamed of any of it.

It works for them. That’s all that really matters.

 


End file.
